


The Little and The Last

by Ardruna



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Babies, Childbirth, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Premature Birth, tolkiensecretsanta2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 08:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13049958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ardruna/pseuds/Ardruna
Summary: The youngest of Fëanor and Nerdanel's children are born, and come as an early surprise.





	The Little and The Last

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feanoriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feanoriel/gifts).



> 0\. This is primarily from Fëanor's perspective, so the father-names are the main ones used for the children.  
> 1\. I am of the opinion that the Ambarussa were the first set of twins to actually be born among Elves, so this follows that.  
> 2\. This is my contribution for the 2017 Tolkien Secret Santa exchange.

" _Atto!_ " 

Fëanor looked up at the cry. It was a familiar one--indeed, most of the city knew it well, the piercing voice of his secondborn son. Even so, it was rare to hear it so shrill and panicked. Fëanor laid aside his tools as his son's dark head burst into his workshop.

"Cano?" Fëanor asked, his brows knitting in concern, "What is it? Is something the matter?"

"Yes. Ammë," Canafinwë gasped out, breathless from his sprint, "The new baby is coming."

At that, Fëanor laughed in relief and came over to ruffle his son's hair. "Oh, Cano. You of all people should know better. We still have weeks before the baby is due," he assured him. Canafinwë ducked away from his father's hand and shook his head emphatically.

"No. No, Atto, I know that. It _should_ be weeks away! But, Ammë... Atto, Atto, something is _wrong,_ I am sure of it! We all are!" the boy insisted.

Fëanor felt the blood drain from his face and a stab of anxiety twisting deep in his gut as he scrutinized his son's pale face, looked into those pleading eyes. "Lead the way," he said at last, his own voice low and tight.

Canafinwë grabbed his father's hand and raced back to the house as quickly as he could, never mind how much his lungs burned with the effort.

The first thing they saw as soon as they came in was Nelyafinwë herding the youngest of his brothers.

"Moryo, I need you to help me get fresh water for Ammë. Curvo, can you get some clean rags and some blankets to wrap the new baby in?" he was saying, and Nelyafinwë's expression melted into visible relief at the sight of his father and brother. "Oh, good. I am glad to see you both."

"You left Ammë _alone?!_ " Canafinwë shrieked, halfway between indignation and panic, "At a time like _this?!_ "

Nelyafinwë frowned as he ushered the smallest boys along on their tasks. "Only for a moment! She needs us to get things ready and this is so sudden, there was no time to prepare--"

"But she needs someone _with_ her!" Canafinwë's eyes were bright, his voice climbing into ever-higher octaves.

"Which is why I sent you to go find Atto!"

"Enough, both of you," Fëanor chided his two eldest, and they immediately fell silent, though Canafinwë glared accusingly at his big brother, "Where is Turko?" Their bickering had given him time enough to realize there was no sign of his middle son.

"Here!" There was a bang as the door was carelessly thrown open, and Turcafinwë appeared, cheeks flushed and breathing hard, "Here, Atto. Nelyo sent me to bring a healer since I can run the fastest. She... She's right behind me." Sure enough, one of the women from town followed on Turcafinwë's heels, carrying a bag that smelled of herbs and linen.

Moments later, there was a crush of bodies against the doorframe leading into the room where Nerdanel was waiting, all of them rushing to squeeze through at the same time. Fëanor got there first, and Nerdanel smiled up at him as he came to her side. It was the same relieved smile Nelyafinwë had given him earlier, one of many small resemblances they shared, like their coppery hair, strands of which were sticking to the sides of her face. But he could also see that she was hunched over, half-squatting, clutching the swell of her belly. He noticed her clothes were stained with smears of uncomfortably bright blood. For all the smiles she might give him, it looked like Canafinwë was right: something _was_ wrong, and the baby was coming early.

"Ah, Fëanáro," she sighed, taking his hand in hers as she leaned against him. He did his best to look past the worry behind her eyes, instead gently rubbing the familiar calluses on her fingers. "I could use my chair... But a back rub would be nice in the meantime..."

"I will get it!" Nelyafinwë called out, and his footsteps echoed as he dashed off.

Canafinwë, meanwhile, took the opportunity to shove his way through and made a beeline to his mother's side. "I'm here, Ammë, I won't leave you, I promise," he crooned, stroking his mother's hair, "Would you like me to sing to you? Or to the baby?"

Nerdanel laughed, though her kind voice was roughened with the strain of labor setting in, and kissed her son on the nose. "Oh, my sweet Makalaurë... I could never refuse your singing."

Makalaurë began to softly sing, the melody gentle and soothing, and Fëanor obligingly rubbed the small of Nerdanel's back as the healer came in to examine her, measuring her heartbeat, listening to her breathing, carefully palpating her heavy belly. Turcafinwë awkwardly hovered nearby with his little brothers, helping Morifinwë hold the heavy basin of water. Curufinwë peeked over the bundle of linens in his arms.

Fëanor watched the healer's ministrations carefully. "Is the baby truly coming now?" he asked, doing his best to keep his voice calm and level. He had no desire to impart his own anxiety to his wife.

"It seems that way, yes, that this is true labor," the healer said, "You should have a new child in a matter of hours."

"Already? But this is too early. We were not expecting the child for weeks yet," Fëanor protested.

"Ammë! I brought your chair!" Nelyafinwë announced, carrying in the three-legged wooden chair Fëanor had built for her while she was carrying Canafinwë. He brought it over behind her, and Nerdanel smiled gratefully as Fëanor carefully helped adjust her skirts and ease her into it.

"Thank you, Maitimo. Especially for being quick!" Nerdanel said, letting out a long breath as she leaned back.

It seemed no sooner had she sat down in the chair than Nerdanel let out a small "oh!" and her water broke, clear, sweet-smelling liquid dribbling onto the floor beneath her. Curufinwë was quickly to scurry over with his bundle of linens and rags to help sop up the mess while his elder brothers brought the water over in case it needed more of a mopping.

The healer looked up at the expectant parents as she soaked up the fluid. "Well. Early or not, this child must be born today if the waters are broken."

Nerdanel's hand tightened around Fëanor's.

"Is Ammë going to be all right?" they heard Curufinwë's small voice ask. Canafinwë moved a little closer to Nerdanel, his singing becoming louder.

"Of course she will. She was all right when you were born. When all of us were born," Turcafinwë scoffed.

Fëanor's and Nerdanel's eyes met, and in that ephemeral moment, they shared each other's worry, pain and hope. He bent and kissed her cheek, even as he kept rubbing her back.

"It will be all right," Fëanor promised her, their children, even himself.

Nerdanel nodded and then gritted her teeth, breath rasping sharply between them as pain spasmed through her.

"Ammë!" Curufinwë took a step forward, eyes wide, worry written all over his young face. Nelyafinwë put a reassuring hand on his youngest brother's shoulder, but even his eyes flickered with concern.  


"Nelyo, perhaps you should take your brothers and--" Fëanor began to suggest, his eldest son already starting to herd his younger brothers.

"NO!" He was cut off by Canafinwë's sudden cry, the boy latching on tightly to his mother's arm, eyes blazing with fierce defiance. "I won't leave Ammë! I won't! I promised!"

"Makalaurë..." Nerdanel began gently, between heavy breaths.

"If Cano gets to stay, I want to stay!" Curufinwë chimed in.

"Me too!" added Morifinwë. Soon, all but Nelyafinwë were clamoring to stay, Nelyafinwë himself shaking his head helplessly.

"You can stay... if you wish," Nerdanel said, though it was becoming more difficult for her to speak.

"All right, breathe, nice and deep," the healer said encouragingly.

"Breathe," Fëanor whispered in Nerdanel's ear. She looked up at him again, strong fingers wrapped around his, her gaze drawing him in, her strength and his fire meeting deep in the depths of their marriage-bond as she worked to bring forth new life.  


The next hour or so was filled with Nerdanel's cries, Fëanor's tender whispers, Canafinwë's singing, the healer's gentle encouragement, and punctuated with Curufinwë's questions about what was happening, until finally, _finally,_ the tiny head emerged, followed by the equally tiny body.

"A boy," the healer announced, "You have another son."

The healer held the newborn while Fëanor sawed through the cord with a sharp knife, and Curufinwë was quick to offer up a soft blanket to wrap his little brother in while the baby was being sponged clean.

He was so small, Fëanor thought as he swaddled his newborn son, so, so very small. Small enough that he could hold him easily in just one hand. Too small, it seemed, for as swollen as Nerdanel's belly had been. He had none of the plumpness his older brothers had, no chubby cheeks, no fat at all, hardly; he was thin and looked strangely wizened, not at all roly-poly like Morifinwë had been, and he was so limply floppy, not squirming and strong the way Turkafinwë was when he was born. His cries were weak, more like those of a kitten than the lusty squalling of his big brothers. Canafinwë, in particular, had been so loud, he had all but announced his own birth to the entire city. His skin was greyish blue and covered with a strange downy fuzz. It seemed like it was taking far too long for the blue to fade into pink and red... He was so, _so,_ small...

" _Pityafinwë,_ " Fëanor murmured, cradling the very smallest of his sons as he bestowed the moniker upon him. He moved to lay the baby at his mother's breast, but realized Nerdanel was still laboring hard, harder than she should have been for just the afterbirth...

"Look, there's another!" Turkafinwë cried. Sure enough, it wasn't the afterbirth, but a _second_ tiny head that was emerging. Moments later, the healer had another infant in her hands. An awed murmur swept through the room as Nelyafinwë took Pityafinwë from their father so he could tend to the other baby.

"Two, there are _two_ of them..."

"I never knew there could _be_ two at once..."

"Another boy," the healer said as Fëanor cut the second cord.

"I get _two_ little brothers!" Curufinwë announced, beaming with pride as he and his brothers crowded around in wonder.

"We have the most amazing Ammë in the world!" Canafinwë said, kissing his mother's cheek. Nerdanel offered him a tired smile and ruffled his hair.

The second twin was just as tiny, just as weak, as his brother, Fëanor noted with some dismay, as he wrapped him in a second blanket. Two tiny, precious miracles, yes, but he couldn't help the worry... Would they be strong enough? Would they make it? He had never seen babies so small before. 

Soon, Nerdanel safely delivered the afterbirth, and was able to rest a bit as the healer helped clean up. Fëanor and Nelyafinwë brought the twins over to her so she could hold her brand-new sons.

"Oh... Fëanáro... look at them!" she gushed, cooing over her armfuls.

"Nelyo... Take your brothers so your mother can rest," Fëanor said, and Nelyafinwë began to herd his little brothers out.

"Will you be all right, Ammë?" Canafinwë asked, lightly smoothing her hair.

"Yes, my darling, I think so," Nerdanel assured him, "We all will." 

Canafinwë nodded and gave parting kisses to his mother's cheek and the heads of his new baby brothers before chasing after the others. The healer, meanwhile, checked over Nerdanel once again, and the twins. They had both turned from bluish to reddish-pink, and were still giving off piteous noises as they were cuddled by their mother.

" _Will_ they be all right?" Fëanor asked, hovering over the healer's ministrations now that their other children had left the room. They were such tiny babies... And Nerdanel looked so tired, so drawn...

"I have never before seen two babies born at once, nor ones quite so small," the healer admitted, "But they seem healthy enough otherwise. As long as they eat well and gain weight, in time, I think they will be as any other children. And, as long as you do not exert yourself overly much, I think you will recover in due time as well, my lady." She wiped her hands and finished cleaning up as much as she could. "If anything changes for the worse, by all means call for me, but otherwise I believe my work here is done. All that is left is to rest and nourish."

"Thank you," Nerdanel said softly.

Fëanor nodded as the healer left, though he glanced worriedly at his wife. For all that she had wed the son of the High King, she had never been one for titles or ceremony, and it wasn't like her to not at least quirk a half-smile at her husband whenever someone tried to use them with her. He put an arm around her as they were finally alone with the newborns.

"Did you know?" he asked her softly, "Did you know there would be two?"

"...I suspected, yes," she admitted, "Especially when they would both kick at once. But of course, there was no way to know absolutely until they were born. And, until now, such a thing was unheard of, at least among our people. We do not birth litters. Who would have believed it anything other than a new mother's hysteria if I had said so? And... I did not want to cause you any undue worry. I know how you get."

Fëanor had no rebuttal, so he bent to kiss her lightly. "I am proud of you," he said, "You have done something no other among us has."

"Thank you." She nuzzled him back. "Have you chosen names for them yet?"

Fëanor gently rested a hand on the head of the firstborn twin. "Pityafinwë for this one," he said.

Nerdanel laughed. "The smallest of the lot, I can see why! It suits him. And what of the other?"

Fëanor hesitated, and gazed at his wife and two littlest boys. How fragile they all seemed! There was a twisting stab of guilt and worry in his gut to note how terribly ashen she was under the ruddiness of her complexion. He still could not quite shake the sense that this was too precarious, too dangerous for all of them, that there was still the chance they might not make it... He sighed, low and deep. He could never ask Nerdanel to do this again. He could not take that risk. It would be asking too much.

"...Telufinwë," he said at last, "I think seven children is blessing enough."

She nodded. "A perfect number. Seven it will be. And may they all grow strong enough to follow in your footsteps."

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who didn't already know, "Pityafinwë" means "Little [son of] Finwë", and "Telufinwë" means "Last [son of] Finwë".


End file.
